Movies, Music, and the Meaning of Life...

Making nonsense out of the logical.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Let's Talk About the NBC Community Fandom

No, "butt stuff" is not much funnier in context.


            Okay, I might be a little late for the hate train on this one (or even the "relevant" train), but I still feel that my rage ticket is redeemable for a little something, considering I'm a liberal arts college student now. Why is my being a liberal arts college student relevant to any of this? Well, if you know anything about liberal arts colleges, it's that they're filled with privileged 20something East Coasters. And if you know anything about privileged 20something East Coasters, it's that what they like is always 3000 times better than what you like, without question in perpetuity throughout the universe. If you don't like what they like, you are a class-A moron who was probably Christian homeschooled. By a goat. A goat in a coma. So, as you can imagine, when I said that I didn't keep up with the NBC's beloved Thursday night underdog, Community, I got a less than understanding reaction.

"IT IS THE FUNNIEST THING ON TELEVISION. AND IT IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN 30 ROCK. HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE IT????"

"THEY DID A WHOLE EPISODE IN STOP-MOTION ANIMATION. DID YOU EVEN WATCH THE PULP FICTION EPISODE??????? BRILLIANT!"

"TROY AND ABED ARE SOOOOOOO FUNNY. BROS 4EVER <333333 i="">

"YOU'RE LITERALLY THE WORST. YOU SAID THERE WAS GOING TO BE BUTT STUFF!" (These are quotes from the show. I'm still not won over.)

"LOOK AT THEM!! THEY ARE THE MOST ATTRACTIVE CAST ON TELEVISION!!!!" (Solemn reminder that Chevy Chase is part of the cast and that Grey's Anatomy is still on television.)

           Now, before you crucify me, burn me at the stake, and throw the ashes into a pit of expired cheese, let me explain myself. I don't hate Community. I don't even dislike it. I just don't see why people flip their hash browns over it. If I want a joke a minute, I go to 30 Rock. If I want to watch quirky, lovable losers, I go to Parks and Recreation. If I want a weird cult favorite, I go to Arrested Development. If I want far-fetched plots with a sweet center, I go to The Simpsons (*cough* *hacks up a lung* *dies of consumption* the earlier seasons). Community fans act like it's the first show to do any of these things. It ain't. Plenty of shows have pushed the envelope, had memorable quirky characters, and manage to fire a joke at you every few seconds. And other shows have done it better. So what really sets Community apart? Why are the fans so rabid about it?

            I mean, honestly, the Community fandom has far surpassed Gwyneth Paltrow in terms of smug self-satisfaction and the Sherlock fandom in terms of hiatus-related self-pity (at least when comparing their respective "hiatus length" to "amount of whining" ratios). And for what reason? Seriously. I'm out of guesses. If you have a good reason, PLEASE TELL ME. It's decent, but I don't see why people are assholes over it. I've never seen people so fanatic over something so okay since Lady Gaga (Face it, people. She was no better than Britney Spears or Rihanna musically speaking.).

           Well, I guess I better bounce out before I make any more mortal enemies. And just so you guys don't hate me forever: #sixseasonsandamovie. Better?

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Malware Issue Resolved

Hey folks!

If you've been trying to see my website on Google Chrome lately, chances are that you've encountered a page that is warning you against malware on the site. I've deleted the "contaminated" post (a really stupid rant about Cast Away that I did, which had a picture of Tom Hanks that was apparently from a sketchy site causing the issue) and the site should be safe now. I'll be more careful about where I get pictures from in the future, and also more careful about the quality of content on the site. (Because, you know, ranting about Cast Away is probably not something you want to hear about.)

Cheers!

Monday, February 4, 2013

The Return of Things that Helped Me Survive High School

This has been a majestic couple of hours. Already basking in the afterglow of an impending Nostalgia Critic return, I watched Beyonce not only KILL IT at the SuperBowl, but reunite with her main girls from Destiny's Child, Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams (all of whom looked fucking fabulous). They also have released a new single, Nuclear, which you need to check out if you want to live forever. I awoke this morning in my already ethereal state to find out that Fall Out Boy will not only reunite and start touring again, but that they have released a new single. Needless to say, my 14-year-old self has resurrected from the ashes of her insecurity and broken retainers.

Why do I give so many fucks, you may ask? I respond with a hearty "How would I even get through middle and high school without all these fabulous things?"

Nostalgia Critic (along with MST3K) is one of the reasons I become interested in reviewing movies and TV in the first place. Doug Walker (the hilarious movie lover who plays the Critic) announced a few months ago that he would be calling it quits with Nostalgia Critic episodes. It surprised me just how upset I was about this. I thought I was too old to be watching NC and resigned myself to knowing that it would end (since I was SO COOL and no longer cared). It wasn't until (while combing through my old tumblr tags) I saw Doug's announcement that he was retiring the Critic that I realized how much I loved that show. I started obsessively watching old episodes over and over again, trying to tell myself that it's okay that it's over. "MST3K is over and you can survive this too," I would say. But no. My 14-year-old movie-loving self just wasn't satisfied and wanted more of this wonderful, crazy, movie-oriented cybershow fiesta. I recently went back on the That Guy With the Glasses website to see that HALLELUJAH, THE NOSTALGIA CRITIC HAS RETURNED. If you're interested in watching his return review of The Odd Life of Timothy Green, he'll be uploading it on February 5th. Here is a link for you to obsessively click in the next 24 hours: That Guy With the Glasses. Welcome back, Critic.

Destiny's Child, where would I be today without your sweet hymns of fabulous independent ladies who take charge and have fun while doing it? How would I be able to survive intolerable pep rallies and spirit days in high school without Survivor blasting over the stereo system? While Beyonce's solo career is absolutely incredible (Bless you, sweet angel), I am extremely excited for the reunion of these badass ladies. Hopefully they'll be able to teach a whole new generation of kids to hold their heads high and kick ass despite the haters. (And yes, whenever I need to strut with unquestioned confidence, I listen to "Independent Women." And yes, "Jumpin Jumpin" is probably the only song I'll ever be able to dance to without looking like a total buffoon.) As you can see, I take Destiny's Child seriously. Welcome back, ladies.

And finally, one of my many secret shames as far as my musical tastes go: Fall Out Boy. Yes, I could say I liked them ironically in my high school years, but that's the chicken's way out. Truth is, I really enjoyed their music in middle and high school. I was obsessed. I was intolerable to be around. I would work their lyrics into everyday conversation to see if people would get it. I changed the wallpaper on the family PC to Infinity on High album art every day until my mom protected it with a password that I could never know. I listened to at least one of their albums every day for 5 years. FIVE YEARS OF PETE WENTZ LYRICS. It's a wonder I'm not illiterate. Questionable quality aside, Fall Out Boy was always enjoyable for me, so when they took an indefinite hiatus, my little tween heart was torn into a bajillion pieces. I thought Patrick Stump getting arrested for having the wrong driver's licence was the worst thing that could happen to this band, but no. No it wasn't. Lucky for me and my sanity, I was able to take a break for a couple years to listen to different music and learn how to act like a (semi-)decent member of society. I don't imagine I will fall back into old habits*, but I'm nonetheless happy to see them back together with a catchy new song. Welcome back, boys.

Well, I hope I've thoroughly embarrassed myself by divulging my middle/high school life and excitement about the best parts of it coming back to me. Until next time, HellOnHoverskates is gonna be partyin' it up.

*Okay, I might be celebrating Heavy Irish Pepper Day with a red/green shirt and From Under the Cork Tree right now, but it's just one day of the year. There's 364 more I have left to make up for it.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey (2012)

Don't mess with short people.
            Did you guys miss me? Like, miss me miss me? I'm afraid I had a bit of distraction (college and adulthood), but I'm back stronger than ever, with a better layout and everything. So let's get to it!
             I was a huge fan of The Lord of the Rings movies as a kid. How could you not be? Epic in every sense of the word, there was no way to avoid being sucked into the at least three-hour vortex of fantasy of Peter Jackson's hobbit adventures (that is, films he made about hobbit adventures. I don't think he had any hobbit adventures himself...).
            Fast forward to 2012, almost an entire decade after the last installment of the beloved LOTR series, Jackson wants us to relive the magic of Middle Earth and we're all perfectly okay with that (okay being the key word here).
           To be quite honest, I was absolutely giddy about this film when I saw the trailer for it. After all, it was another chance to explore the JRR Tolkienverse and it starred Sherlock actor and beloved hedgehog Martin Freeman. So why did I feel so "meeehhh" about it after seeing it?
           First off, Martin Freeman and Sir Ian McKellen are incredible people. Ian McKellen is so incredible, in fact, that I am willing to create Chuck Norris Fact websites centered around him and him alone. Incredible people deserve incredible scripts. An incredible script, this was not. It wasn't terrible or even bad. It just makes me wish that perhaps they had taken a little more time or, heck, even made the movie a little longer. There's a lot of story to cover and there was more filler than was necessary. As much as I love "That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates," (aka "The Song that Most Describes My Feelings Towards Humanity") we really didn't need to spend so much time watching him welcome the dwarves into his home. Dwarves are rowdy folk, yeah, but you don't need to spend that much time establishing that.
           That brings me to my next complaint: the comic relief. Yeah, this is an adventure flick. The comedy shouldn't be the focus. However, that's no excuse to be lazy about it. The majority of the comic relief in the movie was juvenile, bodily humor. Which is fine maybe once or twice, but it kept happening. It kept happening to the point that the movie became silly (especially when compared to the majestic Lord of the Rings trilogy). There's a right and a wrong way to do humor in an adventure film. The Avengers did it the right way: quippy one-liners from our heroes that didn't take away from the overall epic tone of the film. The Hobbit did it the wrong, lazy way. Not in a way that's completely distracting, but, as an audience member, I did notice and couldn't help but feel a little cheated.
            But how could I forget the very heart of the writing? The story! And how did the story fare? Well, while an interesting, action-packed story, I couldn't help but feel that it moved a little slow. I was fine with the slow, deliberate pace in The Lord of the Rings trilogy because I knew it was supposed to be an epic with a lot of material. The Hobbit, however, didn't have the same grace and, therefore, felt a little slow for what it was. I was kind of hoping for this to be a one-movie story, but by the ending (SPOILER) it looks like we'll be getting a sequel in a year or two. Hopefully, by then, the story will be more grounded and move a little faster since it won't be so weighted down in (somewhat unnecessary) exposition.
           Enough complaining (even though complaining is my favorite). What did I like about this movie? As previously stated, Sir Ian Roundhouse Kick McKellen and Martin Freeman are next to Jesus and Tina Fey in my Hall of Incredible People (located in Bucksnort, TN). Great actors and all-around lovable off camera, how could I not love watching them in this film? The characters are the strongest aspect of the film. On top of the already beloved Bilbo Baggins and Gandalf the Grey, we also become more acquainted with the dwarves and Radagast the Brown. Each character is unique, fun, and enjoyable to watch. (Well, alright, Thorin can be a dick to Bilbo sometimes, but Benedict Cumberdragon wrecked up his house or some shit, so he gets a free pass.)
         Lastly, and most importantly, I loved seeing Gollum in this movie. I mean it. Gollum is one of my favorite characters of all time. If you've ever been in a theatre group, you know that everyone's favorite pastime is whispering "precioussssssss" behind stage. I love Gollum so much, I would get a tramp stamp of his bug-eyed emaciated face (with a caption of "Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire," because who doesn't love a good Precious pun?). If you're as much of a Gollum fan as I am, you'll love the scene of him in this movie. It's probably the best-written and most entertaining scenes in the film. I really wish that the writers of this film had taken the time to make the rest of the movie like this scene. It's just Gollum and Martin Freeman in a cave. That's really all I needed in life.
           So if you have some extra time between Christmas and New Year's, check out The Hobbit, but don't expect it to be anything close to the LOTR trilogy, or you're just disappointing yourself. It's lovable and fans will enjoy it, but it wasn't the epic I was hoping for.
           Have a happy winter holiday, my preciouses! I promise never to desert you for such a long time ever again. (I might be lying...)

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Biutiful (2010)

Que es eso? Yo no se.
   TONS OF SPOILERS IN THIS REVIEW 
    I don't even know where to begin with what the hell this is.  It was just 2 and a half hours of "whatisthisidonteven."  Not in a bad way, no...but not in an enchanting way, either. Let me just start by saying that Biutiful is a good film.  It's direction from Alejandro González Iñárritu was actually fantastic, as well as the performance from Javier Bardem. I can see where Bardem deserved the Oscar nomination. There was almost no problem to be seen with the way this film was done; it just had a random, weird, depressing story that could not be saved by the Justice League, Chuck Norris, or one of those Pokemon that speaks in full sentences. That's why I don't think it deserved an Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Film. It was just a collection of maudlin subplots. Don't believe me? Well, here we go.
   Bardem plays Uxbal, a caring father in Barcelona who can speak to the dead. Not that it really matters, since the film only explores that cute little talent of his once or twice. It's really quite irrelevant. He illegally finds work for immigrants (in other words, exploits them), trying to make end's meet, while the Chinese immigrants he capitalizes off of live in a sweatshop basement and spend their days sewing knockoff purses dealing with the abuse of their overlords. Did I mention the overlords are gay Asian businessmen whose romantic subplot serves no purpose in the film because it never develops? Yeah. There was a whole introduction into that romance, and then it turned into absolutely nothing. What is the purpose in creating a love interest for a seemingly useless secondary character if you are not going to follow through on it's development through the story or even give the audience any kind of backstory for it? You're just going to leave everything about these characters in suspension until you get to your 120 page mark. That's lazy writing, my friend. Lazy writing. Anyway, the overlords decide to use the immigrants for construction instead of sewing. They make this business decision as one of them smokes by the window in a blue Speedo. I kid you not.
    I'm sure you're saying "But there can't be any more random stories in this film, right?" Oh, it's only begun. We're introduced to Uxbal's wife, Maramba, a bipolar woman with a drug habit (that was never explained other than a reference to a relapse). She also walks on fat men while wearing nothing but a thong. Only in Europe. Anyway, Uxbal is separated from Maramba because her desire to "have fun" makes her a transient parent. She is selfish, irresponsible, and even abusive, but Uxbal constantly leaves the children, Ana and Mateo, in her care. The fun part where he realizes why that was a bad idea comes later. But before that, Uxbal is told that he has terminal prostate cancer, which has spread to his bones and his liver. I think that this is supposed to be the main plot in this gooey mess of a story. And yet, it still doesn't feel like there was enough focus on that, except for the many shots of him urinating blood and grimacing.
    But, wait! There's still more. Uxbal chases a black man getting arrested, who I assume is either one of his friends or one of the immigrants he helps, which results in him getting arrested. I don't know why he chased him. The point of that was never really explained. I just accepted it for what it was because I'll be damned if this movie has any rhyme or reason to it. Anyway, the black guy that we didn't even know gets deported, Uxbal asks his wife to watch the kids blah blah blah. MOST POINTLESS SEQUENCE I HAVE EVER SEEN. Why not just do a montage of him trying on hats while Cyndi Lauper songs play in the background? That would have been just as meaningful to the plot, but more fun to watch.
    It's still not over. Uxbal goes with his older brother (the fat guy being stomped on by his wife) to find out his dad, who he has never met, has died and they get his body shipped to Spain from Mexico. Yet another entirely pointless subplot.
    The last plot to be introduced is the basement of immigrants dying because Uxbal bought them cheap heaters that poisoned them. They later wash up on the beach, which is thoroughly disturbing and unnecessary.
    Speaking of disturbing and unnecessary, the Asian business men are found out for their unethical sweatshop, so Uxbal goes to a club where people have nipples painted on their posterior regions. I am not joking. It goes from Uxbal telling Maramba to leave with the kids because they've been found out, it's a few minutes of out-of-tune bass music then it's ass nipples out of nowhere. I think that will haunt my nightmares until the end of my days. Who even comes up with something that abominable? And who just springs something like that on the audience with no prior warning? SATAN.  Anyway, he has a pointless conversation with his brother in there. The only reason I say pointless is not because it doesn't have artistic value, it's just that it doesn't get the story anywhere. Or at least one of the stories.
    As a matter of fact, if there is any consistent element to this film, it's people pissing themselves. It could be turned into a lethal drinking game. I'm serious. Every time his kid wets the bed or he wets himself, take a shot. You will become so intoxicated that this movie will make perfect sense. And then you'll see a tunnel of light and all your dead pets rushing towards you. That's the kind of intensity this film produces.
    So remember me mentioning that Uxbal figures out that his bipolar, drug addict, prostitute wife is not an effective caretaker for the children? It all happens when he comes back from that disturbing club that will forever destroy my happy, child-like demeanor. He asked Maramba to take the kids on a vacation they had planned prior without him, because that's apparently the responsible thing to do in his universe. He comes back to find his child Mateo home alone with bruises on his face. His mother beat him and left him there because she believes he is verbally abusive. I've got to admit, this is one of the better quality sequences of the film. It propelled the story further, pushing the limits of Uxbal's sternness with Maramba's mania. He finally leaves her and takes the kids. I really wish the rest of the movie just stuck to Uxbal's struggle with his family. There was so much to work with, and so much was ignored.
    Uxbal takes the children back home, where Ige lives now. I don't know who that is either, but she was the deported guy's wife, so she must mean...something, even though we didn't know the deported guy that well.
    From there, the film tries to tie all the loose ends and make it complete in some way. I'm not even going to tell you about the ending. It's really not worth mentioning.
    Consensus? While the performances and cinematography are good, it does not change the fact that the story bashes out in a million directions. It's so soggy with emotion and artistry, nothing substantial is left. This is one of those movies that makes me question why I bother to watch movies at all. It's emotionally exhausting and far from entertaining. It's not even really that thought-provoking. It didn't make me concerned about human condition. It made me want to avoid Spain.
     Watch Biutiful if you're just looking for pure drama, and nothing else.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

An Open Letter to All Things Heteronormative

Oh heteronormativity. Your many syllables cannot contain your venom, capture your broad frame, and define your versatility.  You envelop capitalism in your witchy, antiquated arms because you are marketable.  You fly off the shelves, comforting those who wish to be dragged back to the time when “men were men, women were women, dogs had yet to be domesticated, and Ronald Regan was lucid.”  You are everywhere and in everything because “it’s what people are willing to buy.”  While there is some truth in that, there is an unsung majority who bought into your malicious scheme, but was certainly unwilling: lesbians who get dragged to movies by straight girls.

It goes without saying that I will make no progress stereotyping lesbians or straight girls who held them captive.  No, I cannot speak for my legions of sisters who preceded me, nor the ones surely to follow.  I can only speak from my own experience.  I did not see Twilight of my own volition.  I had no interest in seeing Twilight.  And yet, I had to buy my own ticket to this twitchfest of lame and peaceable vampires.  Why was this, you ask?  I was nothing short of obligated to attend.  My straight female friends had been sucked into the berry-scented vacuum of heteronormativity.  How could these naïve, pubescent girls resist the luster of a showcase of two lovestruck teenagers (one of them seventeen, the other one hundred and seventeen) of two entirely different species, able to maintain their romanticized gender roles in spite of their extremely one-dimensional challenges?  Well, they could resist quite easily, but they had been so convinced that this was the most ingeniously devised dramatic piece since Les Miserables.  It was you, heteronormativity, that bewitched them, manipulating these otherwise fine young women in your bony, arthritic hands like clay.

Did they actually like Twilight in the first place?  Did they actually find such shallow drivel appealing?  It runs on a case by case basis, and even then we may never really know or understand.  What we do know for sure is this: I did not enjoy one damn minute of it.  Yes, I was irritated severely by Kristen Stewart’s constant twitching and Robert Pattinson’s constant inactivity.  With lines like “You know, your mood swings are kinda giving me whiplash,” the writing certainly didn’t treat me like a paying customer.  But all of those things lay atop the surface.  It was the matter within the membrane I found most troubling. 

I’ve seen the damsel-in-distress stories a million times before, but for the first time in my young life, I was in an environment in which I was not free to snark.  The teenaged girls I accompanied were too entranced by Edward Cullen’s creepy, hamster-like physique.  Were I to open my sarcastic (and concerned) mouth about the bad acting or the obsolete conventions that set feminism back to the 1920s, I would get a lecture about how rude I was to ruin this for them with my bitterness.  But I wasn’t bitter—I just wasn’t a stereotypical teenage girl.

This is just one of many examples of straight girls dragging me to movies.  There was another incident where I was dragged to Letters to Juliet when they promised we were just getting ice cream, but I’ll spare you the details of that as Letters to Juliet could quite possibly be an evil Aryan plot that could be used for another strongly worded letter.  Hopefully, all of this will end soon.  No longer will we roll our eyes in silence, dying to utter the awesome joke we just thought of, keeping our robotic Edward Cullen impersonations locked behind the cages of our lips. No longer shall we describe ourselves as “much displeased.”  This ends now.  I’ll tell you how.

THE THREE STEPS TO SLAYING HETERONORMATIVITY

Step 1: Include token homosexuals.  Any variant will do.  We’re taking baby steps, here.  Throw in the gay guy best friend and lesbian sister for the one-dimensional bride in a formulaic romantic comedy.  Has it been done before?  Yes.  Is it cartoonishly stereotypical?  Absolutely.  It wouldn’t be my first choice in solving this problem.  But think of it this way: If you don’t leave a business card, no one is gonna call.

Step 2: Break gender roles. It’s only step 2, and already it’s getting trickier. Maybe the leading lady doesn’t have her purse taken by the mugger, but rather roundhouse kicks him in the face.  Maybe the leading man doesn’t have to slash his wife’s tires because he wants to control her, but rather leaves her tires unscathed and ends up being a successful watercolor painter.  It doesn’t always have to be dainty women and macho men.  It’s trite and doesn’t have kicking or watercolors involved.

Step 3: Eliminate stereotypes.  Step 2 has opened the threshold for this, but now our token characters from step 1 have morphed into something more 3-dimensional.  The homosexuals are no longer eternally single supportive characters, but (gasp) characters all their own. Just like the straight people.  Now they can kick and paint. Maybe do other things.

Step 4: Stop being so attached to commercialism and archaic ideas.  As mentioned in the beginning of this strongly worded letter, heteronormativity sells.  It’s what people are comfortable with, so it’s what corporations will pander to.  If we as a society choose not to buy what they’re selling, you will never see another sparkly vampire as long as you live.  Nor will you see Amanda Seyfried and other blond people falling in love. (IT’S AN ARYAN PLOT, I TELLS YA!) Gender roles are furiously out-dated in the 21st century. So what’s the point in buying into them?  This is my promise unto you, my children.  Buy as you would have faceless industries sell unto you.

Step 5: Cut off all of Michael Bay’s funds.  I was going to argue about the Transformers franchise being sexist, but the point of the matter is that this man cannot make a decent movie to save his grandmother from a volcano eruption.  And yet someone keeps funding him.  He is the embodiment of all that is excessive and has no artistic merit.  Please stop giving him money, for the sake of humanity.  Think of the children.

In closing, heteronormativity has haunted me all of my life, like the needy ghost who lives in the house we rent that freaks out if you don’t instant message him right away.  In all hopefulness, heteronormativity will haunt me no longer.  Straight girls will be able to drag me to movies without hearing me whine about it.  The sexist will be scoffed and the homophobic will be history.  And, best of all, I will never hear a woman in Cajun accent shriek, “Halp me! Halp me!”  because I will probably be in Canada by then.

Good bye to you, heteronormativity.  Return to your pitch black, bear-infested cave, because you sure are a bitch to type out 300 times.

Sincerely,
Hell on Hoverskates

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (2011)

Written by a monkey hitting random keys on a typewriter given a  finite amount of time.

          It began in a manner synonymous of all of my other cinematic misadventures. Dad asked if I wanted to see a movie with the rest of the family (today's misfortune was Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides). I say, "Well, I didn't hear good things about that one." This is and always will be a mortal mistake which results in inevitable combat. In my family, this means that everyone else is armed with (figurative) swords forged in the Pits of Hell by Lucifer's anthropomorphic Beard of Flame, whilst I swat at them with the November 2007 issue of Cat Fancy. "You can't trust movie critics," they say, "If they're so great, then why don't they make their own movies? When was the last time you heard of a 'Leonard Maltin Film'?" Well, that's the difference between a critic and a director. A critic is a person who is supposed to be good at watching movies, and a director is a person who is supposed to be good at making movies. But that's beside the point. I resigned sooner than usual, hoping I would snark the pain away while watching this excuse for a summer blockbuster.
       This movie was practically destined for failure, at least in the quality department. The POTC franchise has proven to be box office dynamite, but it's no secret that quality control has slipped in all the sequels. The original was enjoyable, but the rest are simply expensive, overproduced marketing ploys for the audience to be sucked into what I call Disney's Swirling Torrent of Capitalism. Long story short, it's a malicious plot to accumulate enough profit from movies, television, Disneyland, merchandise, nuclear weaponry, etc., to thaw Walt Disney's cryogenically frozen head on the surface of the sun so it can be shipped back to Earth to land in the Mojave Desert, spread a supervirus via Colorado River, and eventually command the collective will of humankind. But enough of that. Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides was destined for failure because of the departure of two of the most intriguing characters in the franchise.
         That's right. Pirates has become a sinking ship because of the departure of Pintel and Ragetti, better known as the skinny guy with the glass eye and the fat guy who says "Ello, poppet." Their presence was not only greatly missed: it was sorely needed. Any attempt at comic relief in the already unsubstantial On Stranger Tides falls flatter than joke about dead puppies rotting in a volcano. I knew that I wasn't going to watch incredible actors perform with witty dialogue and an interesting plot (or any discernible plot, for that matter), so what I really needed was to watch a lanky man with rotting teeth chase his eyeball around in the brig while his troll friend growled in an incomprehensible British accent. But no. I didn't get that. The closest I got to that in the fourth installment of the Pirates series was watching the Spanish traipse about here and there in their goofy, stereotypical garb. And there was only 2 minutes or so of that. Oh, also Kiera Knightley and Orlando Bloom aren't in this movie. I didn't really notice since they're technically considered props in those movies anyway.
        In Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, there are more subplots than even it's overlong 137 minute running-time can handle. For those who are only interested in the A-story, the Spanish and the British are in a land version of the Space Race to find the Fountain of Youth, knowing that Jack Sparrow once had the map in his possession. Sparrow is later shanghaied by Blackbeard and his daughter Angelica, who are also interested in finding the Fountain. Sounds cool, right? Wrong. The whole plot bogged down by trite dialogue and meticulously choreographed swordplay. This works in the sense that you're so impossibly uninterested that you don't give a flying toaster what they do with the story, thus the plot can become either inconsistent or completely nonsensical. This is most effective when the screenwriter ignores this fact entirely and goes about business as usual, but whoever wrote the script for POTC: OST was either a megalomaniac or a sadist, because the dialogue reflects this terrible person's desperate need to bring method to their madness. For example, *SPOILERALERTSPOILERALERT* Jack Sparrow figures out that Angelica is Blackbeard's daughter, which is why she is first mate on the Queen Anne's Revenge. But then Angelica tells Jack that she really isn't Blackbeard's daughter, and the audience sniffs out a savory little twist in the story; something that says "Wow. Maybe somebody wanted to think this script through." But then Angelica tells Jack that she really is Blackbeard's daughter and there's a pathetic attempt at banter based on "You lied to me about lying to someone else? INCEPTION. That is really good filler for one of the sequences in this film! I wonder if anyone is going to remember that they paid $10 a ticket to come here...".
       When it's not being entirely ridiculous, On Stranger Tides is painfully predictable. The first act (and the beginning of the second) could easily be turned into a drinking game (for those 21 and older. Unless you're in Canada. Sorry, but I have to have all my legal bases covered.). Every time a tracker shot of a mysterious character's back is revealed to be someone you recognize wearing a different costume, take a shot. If a mysterious figure turns out to be a woman wearing a moustache, take a shot. Every time a rack shot is used and the item of focus is later used for either a gag or a voodoo ritual, take a shot. If that item happens to be a pastry that Sparrow eats as he escapes from a room, take a shot. After about 15 minutes, you will not be able to feel your own face, much less tie your shoes. Honestly, Disney, when I can predict a film down to the shot, your Swirling Torrent of Capitalism has gone counterclockwise. To add insult to injury, the film ends with the line "It's a pirate's life for me." Why not just end Scarface with the line "Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta."? This is a movie, friend. It doesn't end like a 13-year-old girl's Facebook status. In fact, the only good line in the entire movie was when the Spanish guy shoots a patriotic Brit Indiana Jones style and then says, "Make note of that man's courage." LIKE A BOSS.
       The acting didn't induce as much retching as the writing did, but it still left much to be desired. Johnny Depp, who reprises his role as Jack Sparrow, doesn't even pretend to have any interest in acting at some point around the 60-minute mark. Penelope Cruz, playing Jack's old flame and Blackbeard's swashbuckling daughter Angelica, is basically there to look cute and speak in a Spanish accent. This is to be expected, as Kiera Knightley was basically there to look cute and speak in a British accent (although, Knightley did a much better job acting than Cruz did). A few more familiar (and uninteresting) faces were to be found, such as Barbossa and Gibbs. I say uninteresting because who goes to a Pirates movie dying to know what happened to Gibbs? Barbossa was a good character, but he's not the same adventurous, bandit-like pirate he was in past movies as he now works for the British crown. Why did they do that? One of the only interesting characters and they make him work for the most boring country on Earth. Don't argue with me. England has been scientifically proven to be incredibly boring. Ever had a scone? It's a cookie that got attacked by a vampire. Case and point.
        Blackbeard (Ian McShane) (yeah, I've never heard of him either) does a pretty good job given the script he has to work with, but I can't help but feel that he seems exhausted in certain parts of the film. Much like watching Norm from Cheers try and run laps. He's not like this through the whole movie, but there are many moments where he looks like he could use a good couch and a sleeve of Oreos. There are a couple of new characters, who are about as dimensional as a cardboard cut-out of Flo the Progressive Saleswoman. A young missionary aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge introduces himself by pointing his Bible at Blackbeard and going off on a salvation rant a la The Crucible. He later falls in love with a mermaid that he named "Serena" as if she was some sort of a dog that could just have tags slapped on it. I find it quite ironic that it's perfectly natural for a Christian man to fall in love with a mermaid, but if Barbossa and Gibbs started holding hands, it would've been abnormal. I mean, it would've been a little weird because it's out of left field, but they should have given us any reason to find Gibbs compelling at that point. He was getting way too much screen time for what he is--NOTHING. But back to the Charlie Church/Little Mermaid romance. It's much ado about nothing, really. I don't know why they bothered with this romantic subplot when they're already dealing with the overly-complicated Angelica/Jack romance. That relationship is all over the place. They were trying too hard and it just didn't work.
       So, if you have an IQ equal to that of Death Valley rainfall or you want to shave a few centuries off of purgatory, I highly recommend Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, which I give 2 out of 5 horribly misplaced subplots.